


From the Heart

by distantstarlight



Series: 12 Lays of Christmas [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Feelings, Fluffy, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Presents, Things Are Finally Said, little pranks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 01:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13225419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: John has arranged a Christmas surprise for his very best friend to celebrate their first real holiday together.





	From the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I missed the January 31 posting deadline due to unexpected guests and forced socializing. Consider this my welcome to the New Year. YAY EVERYONE

Shake shake shake. “Book.”

Shake shake shake. “Scarf.”

Shake shake shake. “Another book.”

Shake shake shake. “Why in the world would I require _another_ deerstalker? I binned the last one.”

It had been fished right out of the trash and sent to the dry-cleaners by the good doctor, _specifically_ to throw Sherlock off today. John shook out his newspaper and continued to ignore his flatmate. It was Christmas Eve and Sherlock was working his way through the large pile of merrily wrapped boxes that were piled under their artificial tree. Sherlock was impossible today, and in fact, had been impossible since December 1st. Every day that brought them closer to Christmas had made the _World’s Only Consulting Detective_ antsier and crankier than ever, “Well if one gets dirty you have a spare to wear.”

“I never wear it.”

“For photos you do.”

“That was _one_ time, John.”

Shake shake shake. “Medical equipment?” He seemed puzzled but also a bit excited.

John raised his paper to hide the smirk on his face. Sherlock sounded confounded and John knew that his best friend couldn’t stand not actually knowing what was hidden beneath the artful paper. “That’s probably for me.”

Sherlock examined the tag where John knew his own name was clearly affixed. “Ah.” Sherlock tossed it carelessly to the floor and picked up another box. “This one is socks! Are they supposed to be for you or for me? There’s no tag.”

“Well, it could be either, after all, my feet do get cold and yours get ripe.”

“Are you suggesting that my feet _smell?”_ Sherlock was outraged but also embarrassed. They’d run through more than one dank alley and his shoes had finally become saturated with malodorous liquids. The detective had done his best to save them, since they were the pair he’d owned the longest, and had decided to ignore their ever-increasing stench in favour of keeping his sentimental favourites. John knew that he’d pay for days for pointing this out, but it would be worth it if the air in their shared living areas became non-toxic once more.

“No, I’m telling you outright; buy some anti-fungal spray for your reeky leather shoes, and maybe use your sock index for more than storage.” John grinned to himself as Sherlock stormed angrily away, slamming his bedroom door. He exited less than half a minute later and without looking at John, took himself away for a shower, muttering about bacteria and odour production under his breath.

John sat in his chair and felt extremely proud of himself. All the gaily wrapped parcels beneath their tree were fakes, things that they already owned that he’d commandeered to make his gambit a success. Their real presents were hidden in his office at work. John planned to retrieve them early the next morning. Mrs Hudson had stumbled across something she called a “life hack”, producing a box of fancy teas meant to relax and soothe you to sleep. Sherlock claimed they never worked, but if he had a cup before bedtime, even if he sweetened it a bit, he would fall into a coma-like state for nearly six hours. John planned to trade out his secret presents in the middle of those hours. All he needed was for Sherlock to consume his nightly cuppa. John felt a bit guilty about this part of the plan but Mrs Hudson reminded John of _the missing Wednesday_ that Sherlock had caused, _the Baskerville incident_ , and went on to list a large number of other indignities that John had endured without Sherlock once asking permission. Letting him voluntarily consume a cup of tea that would earn him a good night’s sleep prior to being spoiled rotten with presents was hardly comparable to being deliberately exposed to hallucinogenic compounds.

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock emerged from the shower. He was slightly pink from head to obviously buffed toes, clearly scrubbed as hard as he could manage and now clad in his pyjamas and robe. “Tea?” John asked, folding his paper away.

“No sugar tonight.” Sherlock looked puzzled when John giggled at his answer, “What?”

“Nothing, just…there’s this song where the phrase _no sugar tonight_ is featured, it’s nothing.” If Sherlock had a weak spot in his otherwise stunning collection of useful facts, it was that he was completely useless when it came to anything to do with pop culture. His idea of contemporary music was paced out in centuries, and nothing as mundane as a Top Ten pick. It amused John endlessly. “It’s one of those herbal ones from Mrs Hudson, doesn’t need sugar, the ones with the bears on the box. So?”

Sherlock huffed impatiently but also nodded. Tea was a large part of Sherlock’s existence. He had accumulated a broad and comprehensive list of his favourite teas as well as the times required to steep each particular sort, and whatever accompaniments went best with a cup. John had been a decent brewer before he’d met Sherlock, but in the years that had passed, he had grown to a proficiency that Sherlock grudgingly called decent. He’d never be fooled into accidentally drinking something he didn’t want, so all John needed to do was somehow manage to not let Sherlock know that he had plans for later by actually having plans for later, ones other than those involving swapping out presents. “You’re hiding something.”

“Clearly I’m not since you’ve already spotted it.” John just sipped his cup of non-herbal tea and nudged Sherlock’s to remind him to drink it, “While it’s hot, I’m not making you another one because you let this one go cold.”

Sherlock frowned but took the cup, drinking half of it before speaking again, “Mrs Hudson. You’re doing something for her.”

John nodded. After he retrieved the presents from where he had them hidden, John was going to secretly trade out her old microwave for a brand new one that he’d gotten for her. “New appliance. You know that old microwave of hers hasn’t been working properly.”

Sherlock nodded and looked chagrined, “I just gave her a card.”

“Both of our names are on the microwave, she loved that card.” John knew Sherlock adored Mrs Hudson but he wasn’t the sort of man that recalled details like presents. That he’d thought of a card at all was a bit of a miracle. John just stepped in and smoothed it all over. “It’ll just take me a tick but I’m going to wait until she’s properly asleep, that’s why I’m having Earl Grey instead of what you’re having.”

“You’re a good man, John Watson.” Sherlock smiled down, his face crinkling up in a way that John knew few people apart from himself ever got to see.

Everything proceeded as planned. Sherlock grew drowsy soon enough and trundled off to bed. When John heard him finally snoring softly, he crept off to enact his plans. Pressing the laundry hamper into service, John loaded up all the fake presents and brought them down to the storage unit. He'd arranged for a cab to take him to the clinic and back again, even if the driver was grumpy for needing to be out on this of all nights. Once the switch was made, John returned to the basement flat and dug out the new microwave where he’d hidden it beneath empty boxes that normally contained Christmas decorations. He installed it quickly, and after he gave it a quick wipe-down, John attached a small card featuring a picture of John and Sherlock standing side by side at the Yard, wishing her the happiest of days.

Task complete, John went back upstairs to put the real presents down. All of them were the same dimensions as their fake counterparts, the wrapping done the exact same way for all. John consulted the photo he’d taken and made sure he arranged everything exactly as Sherlock had seen last, even how John’s present had been knocked carelessly over. It was late by the time he was done, so he tucked the small tray of disarticulated body parts he’d retrieved from the basement chest freezer unit into the fridge where Sherlock would find them in the morning, and went to bed.

Shouting woke him up, “John! You got me tissue samples! How did you know?” John was only partially awake but he smiled at the pure joy in Sherlock’s voice. What a strange life he had when providing another man various severed human hands, an ankle, several toes, and someone’s left elbow would constitute a Christmas worthy treat? “John are you up? You should get up! John?”

Sherlock was worse than any small child. John was willing to sleep through the shouting but Sherlock hurtled upstairs and charged through the door to shake John vigorously, “John, it’s Christmas. You’re supposed to be awake and doing something fancy for breakfast.”

“Are you hungry?” The shaking stopped but Sherlock’s hands remained on his shoulders, “I’ll cook if you’re hungry.”

“Of course I’m not hungry but traditions, John, isn’t that what today is about?”

“We’ve never actually spent Christmas together, how do we suddenly have traditions?”

“We’re _starting_. Fine, no fancy breakfast but get up. I want to know what medical device you got.”

John couldn’t help his grin. Sherlock was buoyant and happy, his eyes almost sparkling with joy and eagerness. If he wanted to make traditions with John then John would happily do anything at all, if it kept that look on Sherlock’s face. “Fine, how about a fancy brunch? Give us time to wake up and get a bit of an appetite? We can open presents first, and maybe have one of those poncy coffees that Mycroft keeps giving you.”

“Fair trade, John. Of course, he wants to make sure we aren’t getting our caffeine from anywhere oppressed. You love those coffees, that’s why he keeps giving them to us. He knows I have no personal charm whatsoever, he’s got to keep bribing you with extravagances to keep you from moving out. It’s a bribe.”

“He can shove his bribe right up his arse and make some of that cat coffee if that’s what he thinks. I don’t live here for the coffee.” John felt indignant and a tiny bit angry.

Sherlock was smiling down at him, “I know you don’t, John, and I’m very happy for it. Still, the coffee is very good, and please, never mention my brother’s arse for any reason ever again.”

“I’ll only ever talk about your arse then,” John winked at Sherlock who was rolling his eyes and huffing but also blushing a tiny bit.

“Whatever it takes, John.” Sherlock nearly dragged him downstairs where he then forced John to sit on the floor in front of their small tree, “You first,” he demanded, “The device.”

John picked up his first surprise, “Huh, looks like your name actually is on this.” He smiled as Sherlock actually wiggled with excitement before tearing into the present.

“What is it?” Sherlock sounded totally confused as he lifted out a hand-sized piece of hard plastic. It was vaguely bird shaped and it had a finger sized hole where the eye might potentially be located. One edge was slightly serrated and overall, it just looked like a strange plastic toy.

“It’s called a Parrot.” John absolutely loved the look on Sherlock’s face right then, “It’s a non-lethal self-defence weapon. Learn to use it correctly and you can break someone’s hand, do some serious damage to their eyes, throats, and really anywhere that has soft tissue, and best of all, it’s not a listed item so you can keep it in your pocket no matter where you are, even go through airport security with you.” John paused, “I know you wanted to be a pirate when you were little. You’d probably end up killing a real parrot so I thought _this_ kind of parrot would be more useful.”

“This is really useful.” Sherlock’s voice was soft and a little troubled. “I didn’t get you anything nearly as good."

“That’s just the first one.” John pulled out another present, “Here.”

It was a small thin envelope, easily mistaken for a Christmas card. Sherlock opened it carefully and extracted a small rectangle that was the same size as a credit card with various geometric holes cut into it, “What is it?”

“It’s a multi-tool there are eighteen different basic things it can do and probably hundreds of uses for it,” John took it from Sherlock and showed him where several tiny tools and sharp edges were hidden. The exterior had measurements scribed into the surface, a tiny compass, a small magnifying glass, and even a removable blade. “We’re always getting trapped in rooms, maybe with this, we can break out a bit faster.”

Sherlock was silent but he immediately put the card into his own wallet. John handed him another gift. This one was more obvious, a new flashlight. It was bright yellow and oddly shaped, “Waterproof. You know we end up in tunnels or even the Thames more often than I’d like. There are pokey bits if you need to defend yourself against an attacker, it’s solid enough to be a pretty good cudgel, the lights can be set to high, low, dim, SOS, and so forth, there’s a knife at the base if you need to cut through anything, and you can leave it on for an entire year, probably, the battery really lasts.”

The last present was large, and Sherlock seemed to have lost his voice as he pulled it out. “It’s a bug-out bag.” John showed Sherlock the various tools and other useful items contained within its small dimensions, and the medical gear that was hidden inside.

Sherlock looked over everything carefully and a strange expression had grown on his face. His eyes were dark and sombre, “Why John? Why all of this?”

John looked at Sherlock and smiled gently, “I worry about you, Sherlock. I want to protect you, to keep you safe. You live dangerously and I’d never stop you but you were gone from me for three entire years and I missed you so much. You might disappear again. You might have no choice about it. It would tear me up all over again to lose you but if you had these things, maybe you’d be a bit safer, maybe there’d be a better chance of you coming back to me. I just want you to come back to me, no matter what.”

Sherlock’s eyes were growing red and his bottom lip was trembling, “You really care about me.”

“I do.” John’s eyes were damp too, “So much. So very much.”

Sherlock blinked several times before setting down the bug-out bag. Turning on his heel, Sherlock walked briskly to his room. John felt a bit glum but only for a moment. He heard the clear thumps and bangs of someone digging quickly through an overpacked wardrobe. One muffled curse later and Sherlock exited his room with a medium sized haversack in one hand. It was bland and inoffensive, nothing that would seem out of place almost anywhere in the world, unless wear counted against it. It was well used, soft and pliable, sturdy looking and dependable. Sherlock stood in front of John and handed it over, “I didn’t wrap it, but if anyone could make use of it, it would be you.”

John took it. Opening the heavy flap he looked inside. It seemed a bit of a bird’s nest at first but John dug through it. There were shoelaces and bits of wire, an old hand transistor radio, a roll of goofer tape, a smaller bag containing a selection of cosmetics, and an odd assortment of hand-cobbled tools meant for only Sherlock-knew what purpose. “This was yours?”

Sherlock nodded, “While I was gone. Some of it is trash but all of it came in handy one place or another.” John kept digging, opening the small pockets within. One of them held a photograph, just one, and he looked up at Sherlock after examining it, “Yes. It’s you. I missed you so much. All I had was that one picture but it helped. I wanted to come home to you. That’s the only thing that kept me going, knowing that you were here to come back to. I did so many things to get here, John.”

They looked at each other and suddenly, all their old excuses, and all the old reasons, none of it made sense anymore. John stepped closer and pulled Sherlock into a hard embrace, holding his friend as tightly as he could as he pressed his face against Sherlock’s long neck. “You’re home. I’m never letting you go, not ever.”

Sherlock chuckled even as his own arms went around John’s body to hold him just as tightly, “I hope you don’t mean that literally, John. It might make things the tiniest bit awkward.”

John laughed softly and tilted his head up. There was no reason not to so John just moved the rest of the way and kissed Sherlock’s mouth gently, “No, I don’t mean it literally but I do mean it sincerely.” His second kiss wasn’t nearly as gentle as the first but Sherlock didn’t seem to mind at all, “Everything is better when you’re around, so, stay around, you know, for me?”

Sherlock returned John’s kiss with one of his own, bending John back just a little before he deepened it enough to make John moan and sigh, just a little. “Everything is better now that I’m with you. I would never want to be anywhere else.”

From there it just seemed very natural to let things proceed as they would, Mrs Hudson and brunch forgotten. John and Sherlock stood there and kissed, standing in the debris of the present opening, holding one another and just being together. Kisses grew heated and were joined by caresses, each man eager to touch and familiarize himself with that which had recently been off limits. Sherlock, ever impatient, finally dragged John right into his bedroom where the rest of the day became quite noisy, and a bit damaging to Sherlock’s bed which broke after the third repeat of their initial endeavour. Laughter arose briefly before the mattress was hastily dragged right onto the floor so that the lovers could continue to use their bodies to demonstrate the vastness of the feelings and devotion they felt for one another.

Mrs Hudson sat in her kitchen and beamed at her new microwave. Her radio was on, loudly in fact, but she was cheerful as she listened to carols she’d heard far too many times. It wasn’t quite enough to disguise the racket coming from Sherlock’s room, and when they broke his bed it gave her quite a start but also a laugh. Happily, Mrs Hudson put together to hearty plates of food, wrapped them well and snuck them into the refrigerator upstairs. She left a large assortment of refreshing beverages, and a good deal of fruit in a lovely bowl as well. Her boys would need it. Mrs Hudson didn’t fret about not seeing them on Christmas. Mrs Turner had invited her over, and as far as she was concerned, the best present of all was knowing that her sweet boys had finally taken that final step to be together. This was a Christmas to celebrate and celebrate she would.

**Author's Note:**

> The Parrot is a real self-defence item and you can probably find something like it, and all the things I've mentioned, online somewhere. It's so cool. I'd own one of everything if I could.


End file.
